It Becomes You
by LadyEmeraldia
Summary: Hermione returns to her 7th year shattered and broken from abuse. Can she keep pretending? Why is it that she can fool her friends, but not her foes? And why the HELL is Draco Malfoy closer to cracking her secrets than anyone else? Head Boy/Head Girl
1. Pocketful of Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

**Hey guys! First _published_ fanfic so bear with me. Please, please, please review. I'd love to here from you.**

**Constructive criticism welcome...I know this storyline has been way overused. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing (except plot)**

Pocketful of Sunshine

Hermione timidly set the steaming plate of lasagna down on the table in front of her expectant father. She sucked in a silent breath of hope as she cautiously sat down across from him and watched as he carefully inspected the dish. Not seeming to find any fault, the fairly large, harsh looking, middle aged man, with a permanent crease between his brows began eating.

_Thank God, _Hermione thought in relief as she perched herself upon the edge of the hard, uncomfortable oak chair and slowly began picking at the lasagna she had spent all day diligently preparing.

The Granger family always ate lasagna on Sundays. Of course, family now held a different meaning for both father and daughter alike. No longer did the word _family_ bring about a warm, loving sentiment. No, the word was now hollow and bitter, a grim reminder of what used to be.

Two days after Hermione had arrived home for summer holiday, her mother had committed suicide. Hermione could recall that day with such acrid clarity that it made her throat close up with dryness as she sat, absentmindedly scattering bits of lasagna about her plate and reminiscing.

She remembered everything, _everything_…

--

She had just woken up and was prancing about her room in nothing but shorts and a cami, listening to an upbeat tune emitting rather loudly from her muggle radio. She loved singing along with the radio; it was one of the things she missed most when she was off at Hogwarts. Hermione had to admit, even to herself, that she had a decent voice. But she strictly sang only for her mother, and when she was alone of course. She found it quite embarrassing, singing in front of people. But now, singing along to this lovely song, the grin couldn't be wiped off her face.

"_I got a pocket,_

_got a pocket full of sunshine_

_I've got a love and I know that it's all mine_

_Oh. Whoa_

_Do what you want,_

_but you're never gonna break me,_

_sticks and stones are never gonna shake me_

_Oh. Whoa"_

She felt ecstatic. The freedom of summer, though she loved Hogwarts dearly, was rather addicting. She was on a bit of a high and wasn't quite certain why. She missed Harry and Ron obviously, but for Merlin's sake, it had only been a day or two since they said their goodbyes. Good on her word, Hermione had already written a letter to both earlier this morning. The letters had no substance other than a sincere statement of friendly love and a query as to how they had settled in. They had all agreed that once a week they would touch base, and nothing more (unless of emergencies of course). They all felt a break would be nice, what with the whole defeating-the-dark-lord thing and such. It had been an eventful and _stressful_6th year and they all needed some much needed peace and "alone time" as Harry had stated. Hermione couldn't have agreed more. Her nerves had been on edge all year and with the weight of Voldemort and impending doom suddenly off her shoulders, the feeling she was left with had been quite odd, almost as if you had been holding your breath for so long, that the actual act of breathing was strange and new.

She continued this merry little jig across her tiny room until she was startled by a powerful, yet muffled, bang, causing her to collide with the dresser and cause a crash of her own as a photo of herself and her mother smashed to the ground. Hermione hurriedly picked up the shattered frame and set it back as she anxiously left her room to inquire about the noise.

It was eerily quite as she padded softly down the hallway to the top of the staircase.

"Mother," she called rather timidly.

Her father was away at work and the enveloping silence was putting her senses on overdrive. She didn't like this one bit, not one bit at all. Months of war practice had her reaching into her back pocket for her wand. _Oh hell_, she thought. She didn't even have a back pocket, let alone a wand.

She continued onward, a sense of urgency pulling her faster and faster till she was running down the stairs, frantically calling again and again for her mother.

"Mum!" she screamed again, fear laced through her voice as she searched the living room and kitchen finding both empty. The house was rather small and for this Hermione was grateful as she sprinted to the last place available to look.

She rushed up to her parent's bedroom door and suddenly paused, her shaking hand clutching the doorknob and her heartbeat pounding rapidly in her ears.

She was consumed with dread as she slowly pushed open the door…

--

"It doesn't taste the same," her father growled as his fork clattered to the plate, startling Hermione out of her deep reverie.

Hermione stared at him blankly, still digesting the statement.

"You bloody twit! Answer me!" he hollered unexpectedly making Hermione's own fork clatter out of her hand. "What did you do to the food, bitch?!"

The sense of dread Hermione had just been experiencing through a memory was now all too present as she stammered out a feeble reply.

"I-I didn't do anything d-different from all the weeks I've been making it s-since…" she stopped, knowing this would push his unstable temper too far.

_Too late. _

His fist slammed into the table, rattling the plates and glasses. He swiftly stood, his chair falling back behind him as Hermione watched in terror. She knew what was coming. She knew it like one of her textbooks, but no matter how many times they "played this game," it never became any less horrible.

"Get up," He growled.

Hermione quickly scrambled out of her chair, cringing slightly at his massive presence. Delaying would only make it worse. Hermione had learned a long time ago that fighting back only made the blows harder.

She lifted her chin in anticipation and was not disappointed. Her father promptly shoved her up against the wall, slamming the back of her head against it, and pinning her bruised arms at her side.

"How many times do you have to learn this lesson bitch?" he questioned her in a rough whisper.

He threw her small body to the ground and issued a swift, forceful kick to her side causing her eyes to water as the excruciating pain began. Hermione shut her eyes, thinking of happier days and hoping that unconsciousness would claim her quickly.

**Author Note: WEll, there it is. Hope you liked it. The song i was reffering to was Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Beddingfield, one of my favorite artists.**

**Next chapter will be the week leading up to the first day of Hogwarts. It should be pretty interesting as I don't plan on Hermione staying cooped up in the house for too much longer. Maybe...just maybe, we might see our favorite blonde boy. ) **

**I am anxiously awaiting your reviews )**

**Next chapter should be up by 9/24!**


	2. These Dark Days

**Authors Note:**** Hey guys! I'm so sorry this chapter is so short. I'm trying to update every couple of days so that means shorter chapters. I'm not cutting down the story, just publishing it in smaller installments. I'm in marching band so it's really hard to find enough time. At this rate, I'll have a billion chapters…Lol. When I'm completely done (who knows when that will be) I will most likely group chapters together. But for those of you tuning in now, I hope you don't mind a bunch of short chapters. If you'd rather me put up longer chapters like once a week, let me know. Like I said, I'm still gonna take my time getting to the juicy stuff.**

**Onward!!**

Hermione groggily opened her eyes as the warm morning light glittered through the window and on to her face. She found it ironic that something so beautiful, so pure, could touch a girl so repulsive. Hermione felt hideous, maybe not so much her appearance as the dirtiness she felt inside. Her soul was ugly. A black seed had been planted, and it spread with each moment, pushing her farther and farther away from what she used to be. Hermione hadn't looked in the mirror for weeks, fearing that the inner ugliness she felt with each aching breath would somehow be visible on her battered body.

Each day felt like a year and the weeks were only marked by letters with which her only response was a mouthful of lies, bringing tears to her eyes each time she sealed them shut. Harry, Ron, Hogwarts…it all felt so far away. She no longer wanted to remember. It hurt too much: knowing how happy she had been. She felt undeserving of her friends; they would never lie to her like this. She watched mournfully as she took their trust and tore it to shreds, just like everything else in her life. She often went to bed sobbing for the friendship they would never regain. They might not have known it yet, but the Hermione they had loved was dead. Letters would fool them, but she could imagine their disgusted faces, when they finally understood the truth: she was gone. They would never see her again. Harry and Ron might see her body, but they wouldn't see _Hermione_.

It was choking her, life was coking her. Everything she had once been, everything she had once loved, was gone, never to return. She could in no way ever again be the Hermione Granger that pushed open the door on that fateful day. She walked out of that room a different person, now unrecognizable to even herself.

She found no joy, no passion, no reason to continue. Books no longer held the majesty they once did. She looked back on those days of literary captivation and shed a silent tear. Some people found books to be a mean of escape, but for Hermione they were a prison of painful memories, a deafening echo of her had-been passion.

Yet continue she did; however altered she was, it had not dampened her primal instinct of self preservation. Hermione often felt that if she just took a few more pills, pushed the blade just a little deeper…

But she wouldn't. She couldn't. She would _not_ become her mother's daughter. Utter refusal and stubbornness was the only thing that kept her trudging through these dark days. _That's funny seeing as its summer _Hermione thought bitterly_._

Glancing regretfully at the clock, she did a quick mental calculation. _Only 9 hours till _he_ gets home…_

Hermione was suddenly filled with an anxious, nauseated feeling. The beatings had been progressively getting worse day after day as her father seemingly lost more control with each blow. She didn't know if her body, or mind, could handle another "incident." She had been washing dishes last night when a plate had slipped out of her shaking hand. She shuddered as she remembered the vigorous kick to her skull that was responsible for the bruised throbbing she could now feel in her temples.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

Hermione mentally jumped, startled by the noise, but quickly realized with a painful turn of her head that it was only Hedwig with another vague letter she assumed was from Harry.

_Another _week gone by. Hermione honestly had no idea what month it even was. Trivial things like the date no longer had any meaning in this non-existence of hers.

_Bloody hell_ Hermione thought harshly as she slowly attempted to get up. She pulled off the blue covers of her small bed to find a mass of horribly colored bruises along her side and stomach. She no longer slept in anything but undergarments. Pajamas were a hassle to put on each night as she crawled into bed, usually on the verge of a black-out. She shuddered at the ghastly condition of her body, inwardly cursing as she remembered bitterly, once again, that her wand was of no use. She hadn't turned seventeen yet. No healing charms, no disillusionment spells…

_Damn._

**Author's Note (again):**

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